


In the Darkness, Look for the Light

by noveltea



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-17
Updated: 2010-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-10 15:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noveltea/pseuds/noveltea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes order can be found amongst chaos, even when one has fallen so far from grace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Darkness, Look for the Light

A quiet, neat cottage was not what James Norrington had expected to find on the outskirts of Tortuga. From it's reputation he had not expected to find anything except taverns, brothels and loud drunkards. But every location had its own secrets and this one was as good as any other.

Of course, he could not remember exactly how he had found his way to a clean bed, with the curtains pulled to block out the early morning sunlight.

Nothing could be heard outside the closed wooden door, but in a place where he had done nothing but drink his sorrows into a deep, dark well inside his heart, and wallow in self pity, he felt a strange sense of calm. It was almost foreign to him now. He only had himself to blame for that now, he supposed. And perhaps a certain young woman, and an irritating pirate who had both played their part in ruining his life.

The effects of the copious amount of rum he had consumed the previous evening had not yet relieved itself, and as readily as he had awakened in the unfamiliar setting, his eyes closed and he started snoring.

He had no idea how long he had been asleep the second time he woke, but it was dark outside. Not that it was any real indicator on Tortuga. Despite brief moments of sunshine, it had become readily apparent to Norrington that this corner of the world spent more time in darkness - befitting it's occupants - than it did with the sun. The Tortuga daily routine did not include any wakeful stage while there was a sun high in the sky; they were a night people, only leaving the indoors after the sun had concluded its days journey across the sky.

How often had he watched the sun travel it's path from the deck of a ship, while it rocked gently on the water?

The rum had worn off, and though unsteady on his feet, he rose from the bed, knocking over his boots that had been laid out neatly at the foot of the bed as he stood. They looked old now - older than they really were - with rips and scuff marks. The old Norrington would never have left them fall into such disrepair. The same went for his Naval jacket, now a shadow of its former glory, hung on the back of a chair in the corner of the room.

Now that he was awake enough to appreciate his surroundings, he was unsettled at how peaceful and homely the room appeared. As if someone had made sure that everything was neat and orderly for when he woke.

Beyond the wooden door, he could hear the faint sounds of someone moving through the rooms beyond. The faint footsteps never reached the door, and eventually his curiousness overcame the inbred cautiousness and he left the room.

Only vaguely aware of his appearance - unwashed and unkempt - he knew he was out of place in the small home that he had found himself in. Beyond the door was a small living space, with a fireplace that was lit, the warmth of which started to seep into his skin. It only incensed his curiousity; this cottage looked like it could have belonged to Port Royal.

The kitchen was connected to the living room, and a neat woman moved gracefully between them, cleaning. She was humming a tune he couldn't quite hear and at first didn't notice him standing there watching her move.

When she did notice him, a smile spread across her face, full of as much warmth as the fire. "Good afternoon," she said. She spoke in clear English, her accent undeniably of the upper class, which only added to the riddle that was forming in his mind. It was beginning to make his head hurt, more so than the aftereffects of the rum.

When he did not reply, she added, "I hope that you slept comfortably?"

Norrington blinked once, appraising the woman watching him with pale blue eyes. Brown hair hung loose around her neck and shoulders, a dress that hung loosely down her body and shawl around her shoulders; she did not look like any of the women - if they could be called that - that frequented Tortuga, and her clothes were too simple to be that of a lady of England. But the air that she bore, graceful and strong, and unafraid to be unaccompanied in the presence of a man she did not know was uncanny.

She could have been Elizabeth Swann; he buried that thought.

His silence did not seem to trouble her, and she readjusted her shawl before she spoke again. "I'm sorry, you must think me terribly rude. I have not yet introduced myself," she said, moving forward slowly, as though she predicted that he would step back; to his credit, he did not. "Maria Windall," she said by way of introducing herself. "This is my home."

A few months on a God-forsaken island could not claim all of his good manners, and when someone introduced themselves, it was rude not to return the favour. "James," he told her, voice gruff from too much liquor, and not enough. He had told few on Tortuga his first name; none knew his last. Most did not believe that he had ever been in the Royal Navy, despite his uniform; stories went around that he had killed someone in the Navy and taken the jacket as a trophy of the kill. He hadn't said anything to dissuade them. Should they learn his real identity they would surely kill him, and as much as he had come to hate himself, he wasn't yet ready to accept death.

Her smile turned enigmatic, and she ducked her head. "I know who you are," she told him, before turning to move into the kitchen, motioning for him to follow her.

Sans his shoes and jacket, he had hesitated, but she seemed to pay him no mind, content to go about whatever she had been doing before he had interrupted her. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the old James Norrington, _Commodore_ James Norrington, protested, but he was a dull, distant whisper in an overcrowded mind. Intrigued, he stepped into the kitchen, not surprised to find it as homely and warmly decorated as the rest of the small home. He was already beginning to piece together the small glimpses into who this woman was, who had taken in a stranger and not asked a single question yet.

There was a small, wooden table next to the hearth, where a fire was crackling in the background. It was was not entirely smooth, as though it had been sanded down to a barely acceptable level and left unpolished. Maria motioned to James to sit, as she laid out a plate of food; fresh fruit, bread and cheese. At the sight of food, his stomach reminded him that it had been hours since his last meal and he took the offered seat, and the food, with a muttered "Thank you."

"I'm afraid I do not have any rum here to offer you," she told him, and he could not be certain that she was not teasing him. Unwillingly his face twisted into a mask of dread, at the thought of rum, and his hostess laughed softly. He could only surmise that his face had gone a rather unappealing shade of green. "I thought that might be the case," she added, pouring hot water from the hearth into a teapot which she, in turn, placed on the table in front of him. "The tea will help you recover."

And with that, she left him to eat in the silence.


End file.
